Third Draft Finished… and outta here.

I have just finished the third draft of my screenplay. I feel a mixture of emotions that have classically indicated that this… is a pretty good draft. I've sent it to a few trusted people who will read it and hopefully comment on it – in a kind, yet useful manner. Then, I shall re-write it yet again, hopefully minor adjustments, some tonal adjustment, nothing major.

Some detailing of the emotions in completing the V3 rewrite; other writers and creators will sympathize:

Exhaustion – I guess that explains itself. However, beyond physical exhaustion, there is also the mental. This script, more than anything I've written, has dredged through things from my present and past like no other. I have exploited myself to such a degree that I feel as spent as a twenty year old Appalachian strip mine.

Fear – Fear that the script is not a diamond but rather, a turd. Either may still be in the rough, but one or the either it is. When you write an action flick that doesn't work, it's not as brutal as when you lay your heart out on paper The fear is being melodramatic, sophomoric, etc.

Excitement – It feels good. Excitement that it actually might not be a turd, but rather a diamond.

Sadness – yes, strangely there is sadness. It's a common depression most commonly called the "Post-Partem blues" Generally reserved for pregnant women, creators of other sorts are common sufferers of this malaise also.

Relief – The relief that I am, once again, through the storm. The relief that yes – I had one more story in me. Relief that I'm going to make deadlines.

SO…

Allowing myself to walk away from the computer, today I will go sailing. I haven't been on the boat in many, many months and a spirited race will do me good. I must quickly review my knot-tying abilities and put together the kit o' clothes, sun tan lotion and proper shoes. A three hour tour will be a nice respite…

Perhaps it is the script, perhaps it is this point in my life - I have been reviewing my past, sending some "hello" messages out in virtual bottles and reconnecting with some people.

Over the last several months, I have been having a wonderful e-mail correspondence with two friends from High School who found me and one from college. Reminisces quickly dispensed with, it is fun to read and write to these dear women; to hear about their family and work related woes and triumphs. They have also been so helpful in this time of transition.

In part, thanks to them, the chime announcing incoming email has taken on new and pleasant excitement. Though it's generally a sure fire stock tip or Viagra, emails from real people, from friends, are so nice, aren't they?

And today, most surreal, thought provoking and yes, I admit - heart rate quickening, I received a reply email from a person I sent an exploratory email to several days ago. I shall refer to her only as "D". She was one of the most important people in my past, leaving an indelible mark in my mind and heart. Now, fifteen years later, a lifetime later, we are communicating again for the first time. It'll be cathartic to catch up with her.

No excuses in these days of digital connectivity. If there's someone out there you've been thinking about communicating with, do it. Time is fleeting.

And now I'm sailing.

In the next issue of Stefan Avalos Tells All…

Scott Kirsner's new book,

Inventing the Movies:
Hollywood's Epic Battle Between Innovation and the Status Quo, from Thomas Edison to Steve Jobs

The Last Broadcast figures prominently into this book, which is pretty cool. I'll give a full report, but upon cursory view, it seems this could potentially become the defacto reading about what the title espouses.

Cutting the Trapeze harnesses

I don't know what happened to me, but I feel like I was slammed with a 2x4. Muscle ache, headache, nauseated stomach, no desire to get up out of bed… EEKS.

So today, rather than berate myself and force myself up into an attempt to work, I just stayed in bed… 'til 2:30PM!! I am feeling about 80 percent better, but man it really sucked.

I went to a Royal Crown Revue show last night in Pasadena that was fantastic. A beautiful night sitting on a blanket beneath palm trees lit with little white bulbs; listening to and watching top notch players putting on a show from the Levitt Pavilion, life doesn't get much better than that.

But I think the hot dog I ate may have been the culprit to my intensely sick day.

While drifting in and out of sleep, I had a chance to ponder a couple things. One, it's not a whole lot of fun being alone and sick. There's nobody to take care of you, ask you how you're doing, be concerned; not even the sounds of someone else in the house.

Oh, well. Too bad.

Also, as I drifted in and out of sleep, I had a chance to ponder the date itself: July 25^th.
Everybody has their important anniversaries, days to remember, moments in time. July 25^th is one of them for me. It is a sad one – about as sad as they get. However the event took place many years ago and it has been many years already that I could talk about it without undue emotions raging.
My mother died on July 25^th, a long time ago -- when I was twelve. For the first years, it would be an intensely sorrowful day, but as time goes on memories are smoothed, pains lessen.

The reason that I bring my mother's death up today is because in a couple weeks, I will turn the same age my mother was when she died. In a couple months, I will be older than she ever lived to be.

Several days ago, I dragged an old photo album out of the garage and for the first time in quite a few years, looked at pictures I had taken as a child. For my tenth birthday, my requested present was an SX-70 land camera. I loved taking pictures, and as a child, I diligently wrote on the Polaroids: who, what and when these pictures were of. As I'm looking at them now, it is striking me just how young my mother was; already in these first pictures, taken in 1978, she is younger than I am now.

So, today, I feel a bit like a circus performer. In a year when a lot of safety lines have been cut and nets removed, I feel that this is somehow another harness, removed and dropped to the ground far below. These are not my choices; they are just the nature of time, continually moving forward.

I'm swinging yet further into a space that some of those I looked up to never travelled.

Yeah, it's a bit disconcerting.

Walking around the symbolism

I got word from the editor last Friday about the article. Our phone call started with a little chit chat, which is generally a "not all is completely bad" sign. She then got into her comments about the article and said, "It had a lot of good stuff, but…"

Long and the short is that I've had to do more work on it. They say that writing is re-writing. They are right but, ugh, this is tough. Whether it's with screenplays or magazine articles, pulling one paragraph or shifting a thought tends to make the whole thing crumble like a house of cards. It's so easy to make, what seem to be, minor critiques... but often damn hard to put them into practice. Additionally, she wanted me to interview a couple more people; interviews I wasn't able
to get until today (they are very busy people), so now I'm sitting in front of the computer at 10:00 PM, a fresh pot of coffee. Déjà vu.

Several blogs ago, I wrote about the dangers of seeing symbolism in the world. It is one thing for the "dead crows lying on the ground" to mean something in a book or movie, in real life they're just birds that met their maker.

Today, I had a moment which I must share; a perfect example of seeing symbolism in life.

At the request of the one person who has the power to have such requests be honored, I am not going to blog about certain aspects of my personal life in too much detail.
Suffice to say, the following observation accurately mirrored/s my feelings over the last months.

Three months ago, to the day, as regular readers will know, a very dark and distressing time began for me. In an attempt to preserve my sanity, I began exercising feverishly. Part of my regimen has involved walking/jogging around Silver Lake.

For those that don't live in Los Angeles, Silver "Lake" is actually a man-made reservoir in the center of Los Angeles and what gave the neighborhood its name.

For the last months, they've been draining it. The first time in twenty years, it was because of a high level of Bromides. What was a typically lovely landmark, day by day, became an increasingly large, surreal, white clay pit. As the water level continued to drop, the symbolism of it always struck me; a perfect metaphor to my emotional state. A couple months ago, the once beautiful reservoir was finally empty; for how long, I knew not...

Silver Lake - Empty March 22, 2008

Anyway...

Today as I went for my walk/jog what do I see? Silver Lake is being refilled!




View on May 13, 2008

Already a large area of the reservoir floor was under water. It's going to take about three or four weeks before Silver Lake is once again full of water; back to its happy state.

As I stared at the water cascading out of the large pipes in one of the towers, I couldn't contain what I'm sure must have been one goofy smile. Because the very good news is, if things go the way I believe and hope(!) they are… Silver Lake is still be mirroring my life.

And if it's not, you can be sure I'm using this symbolism in a screenplay, where it damn well will mean what I want it to mean.

But is it art?

Some friends of mine returned from far-away lands. We hadn't seen them for a long time and just had a wonderful evening with them. Unexpected gifts from these far-away lands were an additional delight.

I must explain that these friends have impeccable tastes. But they also have a sense of humor which will sometimes manifest itself as a "comment" about 'taste' and "what is good". They can find charm and meaning in something with no artistic merits whatsoever; absolutely BAD can in itself, be art. Or they can trash what others would consider High-art. They may laud the taco wagon under the overpass or trash the five-star French Restaurant. The same goes for music, art exhibitions, etc. They themselves are serious artists – in many mediums - including culinary.

This may seem strange and excessive introduction, but is a necessary stage-set for the following.

One of the gifts they gave us was this…

At home, Marianne and I studied it, not entirely sure of what it was. Marianne thought it was perhaps a plaque to be hung somewhere - somehow.

I thought it was to be eaten. After all, it would be a horrible piece of 'art' to be hung anywhere. But if it was food, she wondered, why was it glued to the wood? And if it was food, why would it be on a plaque of wood, a piece of a log in fact, in the first place? I argued that the wood was presentation – that could be used as wished afterwards: A tiny cheese cutting block, or kindling on a cold winter night… the possibilities were quite varied. I didn't have an explanation for the glue.

The 'what is it?' was shrink-wrapped and labeled in the language of the far-away land from whence it was brought. Incidentally, I can read, write and speak this far-away language – thereby complicating the matter.

I read the label on the back, which was a list of ingredients. I could make out some of the ingredients: flour, sugar, food dye. Others, I couldn't translate quickly. All of these things were potentially food – or paste for an arts and crafts project. What I could also easily translate was a warning at the end of the ingredients: Not for children under 14. Hmm… dangerous?

The 'what is it?' sat on the kitchen counter for the day.
Later, while Marianne was running errands, I wandered into the kitchen, esoteric discussions of past floating about in my head. Is it art? What is art? Define Art? Cripes that's awful art. My friends have good taste – but they are witty and occasionally troublemakers. It could be a 'comment' about the whole nature of gift giving and trinkets from far away lands. I was in a quandary. Damn.

I pressed on the "pretzel" and the "sausage". They were malleable. The "Mustard" was hard as rock. All were solidly affixed to the scrap of log. This mystery was not revealing itself easily.

After mulling it over for several minutes, turning it this way and that, pressing gently, rereading the labels – wondering if I should hang it up in the kitchen above the spices, I did what any true art critic or meta-art critic or artist or any derivation of the whole tortured business would do.

I ate it.

When Marianne came home I mentioned to her what I had done. She looked at the cross section of the pretzel (and the sausage – I ate a piece of that too).

"I guess we're not hanging it up", she noted. She asked me what it tasted like. I wasn't sure. I had tasted it before, but I couldn't recall if it was when eating dessert at a high-end restaurant or when eating Play-Dough in first grade. Food group or Kitsch Art, there was less of it in either case. So Marianne did what any art critic, meta-critic, or any derivation of the whole tortured business would do.
She cut off a piece and ate it.

You can say this about us: We may not know art when we see it, but we know it when we eat it.

The plaque of pretzels, sausages and mustard was marzipan, of course. Thanks B, E&A. We love it!

Currently there is an exhibition of Cosima Von Bonin artwork at the Museum of Contemporary Art, a multimedia artist; he doesn't hang everything on the walls either. The museum is merely minutes away. We're thinking about going there for lunch.

It does look lovely between the spice racks.

My Neighbor Alex

My neighbor Alejandro Martin died.

For most of his life, Alex had been an auto mechanic. As a retired man, he never hesitated to help neighbors and others repair their cars. I frequently saw him under the hood of any type of car, rooting out and fixing a problem. I think a lot of the younger people in the neighborhood looked up to him for that reason. He helped more than a few first-time car buyers get their wheels on the road. When, one morning, we awoke to a flattened tire due to an errant screw, he took it to his place and returned it a short while later, plugged, balanced and ready for action – of course refusing to take any money.

Not too long ago, he had been happily picking some of the various fruits of which we have an over abundance and had shared more of the neighborhood stories with me. It was he who told me the history of the house in which we live (a voodoo witch used to live here – hence the reason for all the red paint hidden beneath the newly repainted walls). I'd also seen him during the graffiti incident where he had finally brought a paint brush of his own to help with the repainting of a wall across the street.

I knew he had cancer, but it was recently diagnosed and the chemotherapy didn't seem to be taking too much out of him – or so he claimed. So when, in the midst of a sudden flurry of activity next door, I saw his son and learned "We lost dad on Saturday", Marianne and I were kind of stunned. As we have woefully noted, the transient nature of Los Angeles is unnerving. The ground on which we stand, the houses in which we live, the friends, the neighbors and the neighborhoods have such a temporary feel, that it begins to feel like we are living in a film production. The sets and actors are all transient, and "It's a wrap" might be called at any time. For his family, it also came suddenly and unexpectedly.

At his wake, seeing the photos of him throughout his life was touching. I only knew him as a man in his early sixties, but seeing him as the young guy, fresh from Mexico, hopes and dreams yet to be realized was sweet insight into his life.

Seeing Alex in the casket, I was struck, as I always am, by the ritual itself. Rather than raise any emotions, the deflated wax figure made me ponder the strangeness of a "viewing"; a relic from a primitive time to confirm that yes, they are indeed dead. The utterly false representation of the person I knew lessened the emotions I was feeling – until my eyes caught one thing – a tiny wrench placed in his breast pocket. That small piece of chromed steel really got me.

In a town where stars are born, worlds and ideas created and exploited – where wealth and fame reach incomprehensible levels, Alex was a simple man; an immigrant who dreamed of a better life and made one by working hard with his hands. However, if a sign of a man's greatness is by how many people attend his funeral, he was a great man. Every pew in the church was filled to capacity – three hundred or more people. He affected a lot of people in a positive way, myself included. I'm glad to have known him.

How many Degrees of Separation?

It’s Sunday and I’m not thinking much, having enjoyed a beautiful day relaxing; raking the backyard clean of leaves and avacados, and aimless walks, first in Elysian Park and then Griffith Park. In staying with that relaxed Sunday frame of mind, this entry is useless, but hopefully entertaining. Some of you will already know this story as it is one I enjoy telling. It intertwines several parts of my life in a strange way.

Flashback to November 15, 1924 -- A collection of movie stars, producer, gossip journalist and assorted servants go yachting for the weekend. The luxury yacht, named the Oneida (clever, eh?) belongs to a party host extraordinaire and newspaper magnate. (ah – some of you know this story) Anyway, names of some of these yachting guests, (for those who don’t know the story) are William Randolph Hearst, Charlie Chaplin, Marion Davies, Thomas Ince, Louella Parsons, Margaret Livingston, Dr. Daniel Carson Goodman, Elinor Glyn… friend, servants, etc.

Thomas Ince, one of the most powerful movie producers at the time (and for whose birthday, the weekend celebration was), is taken off the boat by a private doctor a day later, and whisked away to his home, where he dies 48 hours later. So ends an amazingly important person in Hollywood who is just forty two years old. The official cause of death is heart failure due to acute indigestion. (wow!)

And then he is immediately cremated.

Quickly, another story starts to circulate, which gathers so much steam that an official inquiry is opened. Evidently, Hearst got jealous with Charlie Chaplin, who was putting the moves on Marion Davies (Hearst’s mistress). He pulled a gun and tried to kill Charlie Chaplin. However, he mistakenly shot Thomas Ince in the head instead.

There’s a brief inquiry, but suddenly everyone on the boat gets amnesia (and other things). Contradicting stories, newspaper articles that vanish from one edition to the next, lack of people to question are such, that the D.A. kind of loses interest. Popular belief has it that with the money and power that Hearst wielded, he was able to cover the murder up and hush everyone on the boat. For instance, Hearst gave gossip columnist, Louella Parsons a lifetime contract – making her one of the most important entertainment reporters ever – then or since. The various ‘amnesias’ of everyone involved, the non-corroborative stories - are well established fact, making this one of the most enduring legends of Hollywood. Even now, if you go to the Hearst Castle in San Simeon, and ask about Thomas Ince, there is still an official party line that the guides take very seriously. I know – I asked.

Flash forward seventy seven years to 2001 – a good little movie directed by Peter Bogdanavich, called The Cat’s Meow is made about the whole thing. Great cast including Kirsten Dunst, Edward Hermann, Eddie Izzard, Jennifer Tilly…

Flash forward two years to 2003 – Having finished The Ghosts of Edendale (a ghost story involving the silent movie era), I am finally willing to see Cat’s Meow. I watch the movie intrigued by seeing the story I know so well, brought to the screen. The end credits roll and go on to explain what happened to everyone on the boat in subsequent years. I see something.

Flash back twenty five years to 1979 - My brother and I are two young boys, playing the Violin and Piano at various places around the Philadelphia area. At a nursing home in Bucks County, we are introduced to a frail whisper of a woman. She is introduced to us as “The wife of Big-Band Leader, Paul Whiteman”. This is special because Paul Whiteman was responsible for introducing a lot of great music to the public, perhaps most importantly, George Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue. I am impressed enough to remember this meeting forever.

Flash forward twenty five years and ten seconds to 2003 – where I am reading the end credits of the movie, explaining what happened to everyone on Hearst’s boat: Silent movie actress, Margaret Livingston who was THE ALLEGED MISTRESS of THOMAS INCE – later went on to marry famed big band leader, Paul Whiteman.

I say “Holy Crap” and quickly check to make sure that it is one and the same. It is.

I actually met the mistress of the guy who died on that yacht all those years ago -- a person who knew the truth. And I met her not here in Hollywood, but rather a small nursing home in Warrington, Pa.

How I wish I had known… I could have asked her, “Margaret, between you, me and the wall – what really happened?”

Anyway, like I prefaced, it makes for nothing more than a hopefully entertaining story.
For me though, having that connection, momentary as it was, to Hearst, Chaplin, Ince, to the whole roaring twenties silent movie era – that really is the 'absolute Cat’s Meow'.

Don't take my Kodachrome Away

I’m hitting the refresh button on my yahoo browser with a ghoulish interest. The ongoing saga of Saddam Hussein looks like it’s within mere hours of entering the next phase. I hesitate to call it anything like the ‘final act’ or ‘end of show’. He ceased to be a person long ago, and is now merely an event. I don’t even know that calling him a ‘piece’ in some global game is a good analogy. Well, looks like there’s gonna be a hangin’ soon and the world is watching. Of course, photos and video of it will abound on the internet, and of course we will be shocked by it as we repeatedly view it. Right?

To much lighter and happier New Year’s notes; I am about to wade into the crowds of shoppers to buy supplies for a New Years Eve fest at my place. It’ll be a smaller affair than last years, but it still requires the careful forethought of mounting a small war. A good party requires the proper amounts of people, food, drink and music. One wrong move and disaster is merely steps away. Of course not, but it is easy to obsess about getting it right. I think that I still have feelings of inadequacy about social events dating back to when I was a teenager.

And on that note…

A friend of mine from many years ago sent me a picture of myself during New Years Eve of 1986/7. Looking at it brought up countless thoughts and questions starting with -- Who is that kid?

I remember that moment, but I don’t remember being so young. I remember being absolutely heart broken from a recent break-up, but I also remember being full of hope for the future. 1987 was ahead and full of promise. I was in my first year of college and I was officially a “film major”. I was on my way to becoming the thing I’d dreamed of being. I also remember this was the last time that ‘band’, as it were, would play together -- a remnant from high school, gathering for the last time. So, at least for myself, there was something a little bittersweet. Even in that moment, I knew this was an ending, a last hurrah. However, off camera, a guy was jamming with us whom I’d just met that would go on to become a close friend in the film and music world. So how’s life going for that kid in that crazy red-tiger shirt? Is it going how he planned? Has he been surprised by the alternate routes, detours, springboards and people? Does he feel much older than he did then?

Yeah, all those thoughts and so many more. I’m sure Eric, the friend who sent me this, had no idea I’d be able to assign these thoughts to that photo. Pretty dramatic, huh Eric?

Mostly though, my reaction to that photo is: Holy Mackerel, look at the hair!

I’m so glad that someone pressed a button on a camera at that moment, twenty years ago.

New Year's Eve 1986
Probably playing "That's What I Like About You" by the Romantics.

Things to do before the end of the year

Hopefully your holidays have been enjoyable thus far. Mine have been quiet, spent in relative solitude in Los Angeles; which actually suits me just fine. Having spent years going back to the east coast to spend time with family, the lack of reciprocation finally reached its limit. Now, they know where I am. If they expect to see me, they can come here.

So we’re in those days between Christmas and the New Years. To me they always feel like a car that’s idling, ready to go into overdrive. There is a certain ‘it’s okay, be a bum’ feeling during this week. It’s too late to do something revolutionary, and besides, a new start is just around the corner. Then there is the flip side to that mindset; the desperate sense of needing to accomplish something more before the year is through, some last great realization for the year. Currently, I’m looking back on the year and thinking that oh-so-common thought – “Wow, where did the time go?” To avoid the inevitable depression that arises from pondering this question too long, I’m making a list. Not the ‘woo woo’ new-age’y, “This is what I did, Hey I’m okay and I’m a good person” list – no I’m making a list of thing that I can still accomplish in the roughly 120 hours of this year. How about five things?

I have to come up with five things to complete before the year is out.

Number one will be to dump the loser stocks I currently own and replace them with a nice mutual fund. I realize, with humility, that I stink at picking stocks, so I’m leaving it to someone who does it professionally.

Four more things to do. Rather than cheat and make one of things ‘to do’ a creation of a list of things ‘to do’ next year, I’ll make that a separate project.

Anyway, when not making recursive lists, I’ve been continuing my chair research. There’s only so long one can research it online before having to get off your butt and, well, sit your butt down on future contenders. That list is narrowing and down to a few option now. Psychosomatically, my back has been aching more than usual. Interesting, but not surprising.

So – do you have a list of hopes, dreams, and things to do, before the year is out? If so, good luck with it.

How it works in Hollywood

I presented the last ten pages of D.R.06.2, also known as The Untitled Stefan Avalos Project, also known as A Kinda Version of That old Script, Diamond Road to my writing group…

… Where, after the obligatory “well dones”, it was sent back to the kitchen, so to speak. “Make the end bigger”, was the overall consensus.

“Yeah, you’re right”, I grumbled.
“Don’t get too smart”. More valuable words were never spoken in this town.

It’s strange how this job of imagining things has gotten more difficult since I was a kid. It seemed so easy back then.

An anecdotal story of a famous director explaining what he wanted in the action screenplay being developed was brought up by one of the writers in my esteemed group: “I want something big in the beginning, something bigger in the middle and something really big at the end.”
Pretty much says it all, doesn’t it?

User customization for increased productivity

If there is on and off wackiness of this journal in the upcoming days or weeks, it is because I’m attempting to migrate it to a different place. Why? So I can customize the look and feel of it better. Also, some of the blogspot.com limitations are beginning to annoy me.

So far, I’ve wasted two days.

Playing with the look and feel of desktops, fonts, screensavers and websites costs the U.S. an estimated four billion dollars in lost company time per year! Actually, I don’t know. I just picked that number out of the air. However, a lot of precious time is spent during the workday doing just that. “Increased productivity”, I see those words on more things that require hours of installation and fiddling than anything else.

In terms of a blog or website, yes, it’s nice for things to look good, be ergonomic, represent the self, etc., but really, how much does that matter? Most of the time, I go to a website purely for information. Presentation is ancillary unless it’s so bad as to be a distraction.

When the web started out, and everyone was making their first websites, a lot of content-impaired people would basically take their bookmarks and turn them into a web page. Websites consisted of a lot of links going to other websites with lot of links going to…

A website or blog has to be pretty damn good for me to look at the links. Now that RSS feeds (essentially links that update themselves) have become the rage, people are building a lot of pages that use them instead old-fashioned links.

It’s sort of a different shade of the same color. Most people really can’t create content of any worth, so they just point to other content and try to change the color a little.

Profiting with the new Paradigm of Entertainment Media
or how I convinced myself that ringtones were somehow important

Let me preface this all by saying that I have not turned into Andy Rooney.

I went to a holiday film festival party last night. Everyone was very nice, the drinks were free, but the junk being espoused… Eesh. Good thing I was wearing my boots.

There is a desperate attempt to figure out what the popularity of new Internet sites and new methods of disseminating media mean. Everyone wants to be part of it, and I see a lot of business cards being waved around by “media consultants” – almost as many as panels and conventions for ‘media developers’. When “myspace” is talked about as revolutionary, I know I’m listening to people who are only parrots and trying to get in on the ‘new thing’.

Let me be the bearer of news to those who haven’t figured out that, the Emperor, while not naked, is wearing only a string thong.

Ipod = walkman
Podcasts = radio show
RSS = ticker tape.
Website = magazine, newspaper or catalog
Youtube = public cable
Mobile content = walkman with a crappy picture and sound
Myspace.com = “My first web template” web templates for people too ignorant to do one themselves.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying these things aren’t cool. I’m just saying that they are not revolutionary in the way that most people are desperately trying to make them.

You know what was revolutionary? – Radio, TV, the Telephone, Answering machines, Internet for the masses, Email, The VCR.

Ringtones are not important. Neither is most ‘mobile content’ ‘alternative distribution channels’, ‘information dispersal’ or ‘new media ventures’ Sorry, it’s not.

Revolution doesn’t just mean ‘something new’. Revolution means change, and most of these new gimmicks will not inherently change a thing. Note that I didn’t say ‘all’.

It feels like 1996 again. Everybody is trying to figure out how to profit from the “upcoming paradigm shift”. Heck, when Google spends 1.65 billion dollars on Youtube, who can blame people? There’s an inherent lottery ticket mentality continually at work here.

So what do you get? A bunch of people with not a whole lot to say or do or show, covering that fact - by pointing to other people with either a link, an RSS feed or a podcast interview - the latest update on the old trick of seeming cutting edge by association.

It may all be moot though...

Just this morning, I read that the thong-wearing Emperor has died…

Time Magazine made “You” the Person of the year.

Without fail, when Time Magazine decrees something is hot, its time has past. When it comes to trends to report upon, they have the uncanny knack of being the last to know what’s important.

By the way, if you’re an advertiser or Television Network trying to figure out how to make all this eyeball-competing free-media work for you, let me know. I figured out how we can all make a ton of money by giving it all away.

Seriously.

Now go do your Holiday Shopping.
On the Internet, of course. That’s revolutionary!

And don't forget you can add the RSS FEED to this blog to your awesome website.

L=O+P

Uhh, wow. The hits are going up on this blog, which only adds to the pressure of having to keep my little writing ditties updated; so here’s a few quick random thoughts. Nothing deep or insightful. My apologies. Good news is that I’ll probably remember something good the moment I put this up.

To start with, today’s entry has me a bit annoyed because the recent upgrade of blogspot.com has messed up the MS Word plugin I use. Now, I have to jump through a couple extra hoops when I ‘publish’ my entry. Their word, not mine. Though this upgrade added some cool stuff, I hope they work this problem out soon. I’ve come to really rely on auto-correct.

Woe is me, huh?

Luck.

Luck only makes sense if you’re a superstitious person. I’m not - so I cannot, by definition, believe in luck. There is of course, randomness, and it can often seem absolutely improbable. But it’s not luck. Mathematically, the ‘lucky’ person is gonna run out of it at some point. That’s math.

The definition I did hear of luck that I like is - Luck is when opportunity meets preparation. Ah. Yes. Enough scientific reasoning. Enough sense. No need to buy a rabbit’s foot for that. And of course it’s not luck really.

So, presently, I’m hoping that preparation is about to meet opportunity. Can’t detail it more than that, but it has something to do with Diamonds… bloody diamonds.

Honestly, that’s not hard too hard to figure out, so no need to email me.

I’m listening to a pod-cast called Keith and the Girl. Damn funny Daily show from a couple out of New York. Reminds me of what I liked when I used to listen to Howard Stern - the news with Robin and their personal life stuff. Keith and the Girl are doing that very well. It’s also really nice to be able to listen on my schedule - pause when I need, repeat something if absolutely necessary... not listen at six in the morning. Hey, maybe this internet thing isn’t a fad after all. They initially got my attention with several funny riffs on the Michael Richards thing, but their absolute lambasting of Dane Cook is what really turned me into a fan. I’m glad I’m not the only one who thinks he doesn't have a funny bone in his obnoxious body. Besides that, their show alerted me to the fact, evidently well known among comedians, that Dane Cook has stolen some of his material. Now, if HBO would just stop wasting their precious time on him.

Okay, that’s about it for this lame-o entry. If you’re annoyed, and you want something better, check out some of the wonderful links I’ve collected. If that’s not enough, come back soon for something more. On the flip side, short entries are probably easier to get through, right? It's never my intention to write a tome when I compose a blog entry, they just tend to end up that way.

As Mark Twain wrote:
"I apologize for the length of this letter. If I had more time, it would have been shorter".

It's something that most writers can relate to, I think.

FYI - If coming back to this only to find the same entry, day after day is annoying, subscribe to the RSS feed - that way you’ll know exactly when the latest, greatest entry is up. (hint – if you have a Yahoo page – just click on the yahoo button at the top right of this page. It will take care of the rest)

Perhaps a final update on the car: We just got it back from the body shop. They did what they had to do. It's about 98 percent as good as it was before it was stolen. I think. Of course, I won't know for sure till I drive it for a while. Since the tinting had to be replaced, we now do have some nice new tinting. However, now we need two keys - the new one for the ignition, the old one for the doors and trunk, and that's a bit annoying. I also swear the front end seems noisier than it was... But hey, the car lives to see another day.

I guess we were lucky.

One of those days

One of those days

The cat was not acting her usual self last night and we then saw some blood on the floor and on the towel she sleeps on. When I attempted to look closely at an area on her stomach that she was licking continuously, she meowed-squawked, and took off for the laundry room. This morning, Marianne got a closer look and saw a nasty gash. A visit to the vet determined it was even deeper than we thought, and would require stitches.
     So now, we are being treated to the pitiful sight of our cat staggering around with a cone-head. She’s freaked, her balance is off, and in pain. Disconcerting, but what can you do?

This evening, I went to bucolic Sierra Madre to help a friend with a political spot. An attempt to do some good, I think it went well. However, I left his house, went out to the quiet, tree lined street to find – no car!
My car was stolen! It’s an odd thing. I actually looked up and down an EMPTY street, to see if I had put it somewhere else, as if I had misplaced the TV remote or something.
This really sucks. We only have one car. It’s not a new car, but it’s our car, our reliable Honda Accord. Or at least it was. For the moment, we’re kinda at a loss.
For those that don’t know, Sierra Madre is like Mayberry. Not a high crime area, to put it mildly.

Singing the song of everybody who has had a car stolen – I hope carma (no I didn’t misspell that) really nails whoever stole my car. And I hope they aren’t chopping it up as I write this.

After filling out the police report, the officer gave me a little card and said they’d call if anything turned up. She gave me her condolences, which was nice, and then – that was it. It’s disheartening to walk out of the police station with just a little card that has a report number and a few other things. Is this all I have now?

The great prescription sunglasses Marianne had just gotten me for my birthday were in the glove compartment too. Damn it.

Anyway, if you live in Connecticut, please vote for Ned Lamont. And if you do, leave a message on this blog. At least it’ll make the stolen car not seem entirely in vain.

Merry Christmas

Merry Christmas

The windows are opened wide to a hazy, lazy, warm Christmas day in L.A.
I decided not to go back to Pennsylvania this year for a variety of reasons, upon none of which I will elaborate.  

Christmas in L.A. – warm, no snow. Some love it, some find it depressing, you can make as much or as little of it as you like. It has been unseasonably warm, even by Socal standards – meaning that we hit 83 odd degrees yesterday. It’s a pleasant 70 right now.

Last night, I celebrated Christmas Eve with friends and an incredible Victorian style dinner. I made the mincemeat pie, not having any idea of what it was before embarking on a recipe hunt. It came out quite well, if I may say so myself. A Jewish/Moslem couple recently ensconced in the hills of Sierra Madre hosted the evening. The party, a wonderful mix of French, Swiss, Turk, Cuban/German (that’s me) and miscellaneous American heritages, we sang carols, drank eggnog, and feasted till we could drink, eat and sing no more.  

How’s that for celebrating the birth of Christianity?

Anyway, here’s hoping that your feasts and friends are also good. Enjoy the holidays and try not to make religion or consumerism too big a part of them.

Rebroadcasting

Talked to Lance. He alerted me of a rumor. I googled, I checked. I confirmed.

Robert Altman’s newest movie, “The Prairie Home Companion”, has been tentatively re-titled. What’s the new title, you ask?

Take a guess.

“The Last Broadcast.”

Really. No kidding.

So, journey with me to a potential future typical conversation at a potential future typical party.

“So what do you do”.
“I’m a writer-director.”
“Oh, what have you made?”
“Well, my first movie was “The Game”.
“Really? You know Michael Douglas”?”
“It wasn’t that “The Game” it was another – made a couple years before”.
“Oh. What else?”
“I co-directed a movie called “The Last Broadcast”.
“Really? So you know Woody Harrelson and Garrison Keillor?”
“No, not that “The Last Broadcast”. Mine was about these people who go into the woods with video cameras and die and then a year later the footage is found and a documentary is made…”
“That sounds like –“
“Yes, I know. Mine was made a year before… say, I’m going to go get another drink”.

A few years ago a British band called “The Doves” put out an album called “The Last Broadcast”. That same year, Sheryl Crow put out an album with a song on it called “Diamond Road”. I registered that screenplay way back in 1994.

So, what does it all mean? Eh, probably not much. Just that I need to wrap the tin foil around my head a bit tighter.

Start up

Start up.

Today, I am sitting under the new Pergola and – writing!!
I am back to work, which feels like a relief in many ways. The weather has turned absolutely beautiful, and the area which I built is doing its job well – creating a bucolic environment within to write.

The problem may be that pleasant environments are not good ones in which to write. I think it may be a misconception – created by hopeful writers and composers.

Does great need a level of discomfort? Certainly invention does, and writing, painting, sculpture – all of it – are inventions.
It would be interesting to study the environments of great creators. I do know that Paul Simon stands in front of a large white wall, and throws a ball at it.

Maybe I need to build a big wall with which to bounce a ball from. Ha. Of course not because in the end, it’s the person doing the throwing, not the wall. I’m guessing that Paul Simon has come up with great lyrics while cleaning his garage.

I think that the Achilles heal of today’s creative world is the accoutrements  – the best synths, the best computers. More time is spent collecting software and hardware than actually using it. I know supposed filmmakers who spend so much time talking about what camera they’re going to use, what formats are good and bad, that they have yet to make a movie!
I don’t think that journalists and novelists go as crazy, but I do know that many ‘wannabe’ screenwriters spend an inordinate amount of time discussing what software to use to write their opus. More often than not, they never get past page ten. Lawrence Kasdan writes with a pencil. Says something, doesn’t it?

I spent an awful lot of time buying this latest computer, and building my latest office – outside office and inside office. My house is clean and ready.

The moment of truth is now.

(picture of hands tentatively above keyboard)

BTW – I use Final Draft for screenwriting.

Something new

There was a time in all of our lives when each day taught us something new. Or many things.
I do still learn things. Generally though, they are refinements of things I already know. I realize that learning something, to even have the possibility of discovering something entirely new, as an adult, on a daily level is fairly unlikely, but - with all the information at our disposal - shouldn't it be possible?

I'm not desirous of learning quantum physics, just a tidbit of something that hasn't been in my daily view.

I bet there's a website somewhere devoted to divulging something (randomly and daily of course) that you didn't know. Now, I don't want useless knowledge. I have plenty of that; I can flip a Snapple top and get that - No, I think I want to learn something new everyday, which could be useful.

Along those lines, I'm going to also listen to one new song, or (if classical) 'piece', of music per day. The advantage to a 'song' is that it shouldn't take much longer than 3:50 -- unless it's some pretentious band doing something pretentious. I'm not sure which retro-year we're in right now, so it is entirely possible that ELP-like, or Pink Floyd-like, or some other band that does hourlong 'songs' could be hot (with a different name and members). But I don't think so. Is Air still putting out albums? They were Pink Floyd, weren't they? And everyone knows that Oasis is the Beatles. Who is Jet?

I've really been trying to stay in touch with current music, but damn it - so much of it is soooo boring. Really, it is. I find my listening habits going backwards in time. Further and Further.

So - if you know of any cool new music, let me know.

Going to look at two places tomorrow. Fingers still crossed.

Later, when we have a new place, I'll write about some of the house hunt experience. Till then though, I don't want to jinx the search with cynical storytelling.

This old house is going to meet the saints.

The eviction papers were served.

So, there it is...
60 days and we're somewhere else. Who knows where?

The day after the papers were put on our door, a bulldozer sat in front of what used to be Michael, Yoko and Rob's old house. I use first names only, and should elaborate.

If you've read any of this blog, maybe you remember the Thanksgiving dinners, the Fellini'esqe evenings in the backyard under the lemon tree, the gatherings of friends, the bottles of wine. No? A rich history of friends and neighbors, celebrating whatever needed celebrating frequently happened at that house.




























Celebrations on the Hill

Michael and Yoko bought a house when the landlord told them he was going to raze the house and build something new. That was about a year ago, so the house sat vacant, dying. Amazing, really how a house dies when no one lives in it. They are more than lumber glass and nails, aren't they?

It was an old house that had a lot of life pass through it, beginning long before I or any of the current generation of Edendale were born.













































It only took about forty minutes.

It was a perfect symbol of how we feel. The set is coming down, time to move on.

Incidentally, if you've seen Ghosts of Edendale, this house appears in it. Rachel runs past it, and we used the back of it for a scene between Julian and Rachel (where she is looking for Andrew, who has mysteriously vanished)

Some of the neighbors came out to watch and take pictures. I took pics and video. In hindsight, I wished I could have recorded it with proper mic placement and decent mics. The sounds the house made were big. Bigger than I thought. The shattering of glass and lumber combined was art unto itself.

So, there it is. The end of Edendale living is in sight. New beginnings for others.
May it be as good to them as it has been for me.

Anyone is L.A. - if you know of a two bedroom house - (not apartment) with privacy, trees, etc. for rent -- let me know.

I will announce the "Winner" of my death diarama question soon. Read the blog, give it some thought.

Getting a head in the business

It seems that a lot of my friends are making movies about the head - and no, not a one of these movies was one of 'those' movies - produced in the valley. haha.

First, Paul Tarantino's HeadHunter, then Lance Weiler's Head Trauma, and just this past week, I had a chance to go to a very secret screening of Brothers of the Head by Lou Pepe and Keith Fulton. I'm sworn to secrecy on it - the print was flown in from Britain - complete with security detail, and flown out the very next day. Okay - the security was an assistant named Abby, however, she was under threat of death to let the print out of her sight.

Suffice it to say, the movie will get into YOUR head. Bravo, Guys!

And you, fair reader will hear a lot about this movie soon enough.

Meanwhile, my head is hurting as I ponder the notes I've gotten for Diamond Road.
I'm in agreement with a lot of them, but finding it difficult to sort them into anything coherent for a re-write. UGGGH!. Maybe it's the heat. Maybe it's the sun. Maybe I'm just temporarily burned out on this script.

As I'm pondering the rewrite, I'm hitting the reload button on an order status page like a chimp trying to get peanuts: Yes, after a lot of late night searching, a lot of comparisons, a lot of reviews, user opinions, questions here on this blog, and some distant driving to the rare dealer in Soutern California, and after searching Pricegrabber for the best price, and reading reviews about said retailer, etc. etc.
- I went and ordered an Asus V6V notebook computer.
Never heard of them? Well, Asus (besides making great motherboards, etc.) are the company that makes Apple, Sony and a few other company's notebook computers. They have their own line of systems, and wow - these are the best looking notebooks on the market today. Performance is steller too.

This Sony Vaio has treated me fairly well, but it's getting funky. The (new) battery died (a victim of a bad battery board) and the hard drive makes a clicking sound every so often. It's not 'portable', since I need electricity, and the battery board replacement was for nought. If you've kept up with this blog, you'll have read about the upkeep of this computer.

I know I shouldn't get attached to machines, but as a writer, you do get attached to keyboards, computer screens, etc. Maybe even more so than the typical computer user. I'm going through the guilt pangs of replacing the system. Maybe VAIO knows - today the screen started flickering. Not a good sign. Not a good sign at all.

If any of you are tech junkies, you'll know the feeling of waiting for a really cool, new toy.
I've been hitting the reload button on the order page since its inception - Last Friday.
Let me hit that reload button again (seventh time today), to see if my order is updated in any way whatsoever...
Hey! An update!

The order has shipped from Canton Ohio - due here next Monday.

only 144 hours to go.

my head is like a cathedral

How does that sound to you?

Actually, the sheer EMPTINESS is what is creating that cathedral like reverb inside my noggin. Nothing grand about it at all. Purely empty depression. Oh, not the kind that makes you wonder if the world is worth anything, if our country's going to hell in a hand basket, or will the sun ever come out again. Actually, I haven't wondered about that since I moved from PA.

No, the depression I'm currently undergoing is the type when you're doing nothing. I'm attempting to, but that damn cursor is just blinking blinking blinking...

Just watched a movie tonight called "Love Object". I guy I met, Robert Parigi, made it.
That was depressing. Depressing because it was a good movie, and dammit... I need to make good movies.

Lest I let you'all too deep into my head, I'll change the tune.

As I sit in front of the computer working on one of several screenplays (see paragraph above on blinking cursor), I doodle around on the internet. Way too much. I've taken to turning offf the wireless card on my laptop in order to force myself to work. Of course I turn it on again soon after. Today the router decided to help me out. My once wireless router is now refusing to show that it has any kind of way of transmitting a signal. So - one tech support call later haha, I have an RMA number. The packing slip also lists as needed, a copy of the proof of purchase. Uh - should'nt the registration I made with the company suffice? I don't have the receipt. Sorry.

We'll see how this goes.

I think what really annoyed me the most was that I started really early today with the intent of knocking out a couple great pages. Figuring out that the router was physically (not mentally) dead, blew half the day.
Of course, you see the circular patter here, don't you?

Traffic is beginning to lighten up in L.A. as we approach the holidays. Really makes you realize what a town of transplants it is. Everybody goes "home" for the holidays. Makes you wish there were more holidays.

Tomorrow. I promise not to procrastinate. I promise not to procrastinate.

A good life is not necessarily a creative one

A blog entry means that it’s procrastination time…

Picture this moment:
I’m sitting on the couch in my living room. In front of me, a beautiful fire is burning in the fireplace. A glass of wine sits at my feet, as I type this on my laptop. The smells of a wonderful salmon dinner are wafting in from the kitchen as Marianne finishes the final stages of cooking one of her specialties. This is my life on the evening of Nov 23rd. I pinch myself frequently, so don’t think I’ve gotten used to it.

Maybe later tonight, we’ll fire up the hot tub.
If you’ve seen the movie, you can picture the scene I’ve just laid out perfectly.

If you care to email me about this preceding image, the subject line “I hate you” will suffice.

Ahhh.

Okay, fun time over, guilt time next. Excepting for a few looping sessions, I’m done with “Headhunter”. I haven’t started any kind of rewrite on “Diamond Road” and am currently a blank in terms of what to do with it or any other movie ideas. What the heck kind of a storyteller do I think I am? I’m a big fat fake.
I did a few interviews in the last couple days, which has created a certain “rest on your laurels” sensation, which I better kick in the butt in the next twenty-four hours.

It’s comes to this – I’m about to write about the weather of Los Angeles. The last couple days haven’t been cool, they’ve been downright cold! I don’t think we broke sixty twho degrees for the last three days. Night time has been falling into the low fifties, even high forties!! Frigid. With a little rain(!), the climate’s been veritably winter like. Northeasters need not respond; I know how silly it sounds. I admit it, my blood has thinned out since living on the west coast.
Anyway, this weather should theoretically make for some good writing. Gray skies and all. Worked for a lot of other writers, didn’t it? Instead, today I decided I needed to expand the range of the wireless network. Marianne needs access in the bedroom (internet) so it’s not officially procrastination. Just the hours of research on the internet deciding which high gain antenna, or power amp would be best are.
But – because of this research, I helped the economy (namely Compusa and Hawkings technology) with a purchase of a wifi power booster and – well – you read the beginning of all of this – I can now comfortably write this rather pathetic entry from in front of the fire with a glass of wine… and upload it too.

And full circle we’ve come in this blog. I apologize for the waste of bandwidth and your precious time.

Soon, perhaps very soon, I will write things of great import.

Hmmm… noticed my battery is running down quickly. I guess I should research any potential solutions to that.

(Of course, I could just plug the power supply into the wall socket that’s five feet away from me.)

I close this entry with a couple extremely clever photos I recently shot.
(Actually you can take the exact same pictures on a walking trail at Griffith Observatory)



The Road to Hollywood -- get it?

haha...

don't hit the "Edit Posts" button

Note to self... save the blog before doing anything else.

If you see a change in the software I'm using for this (ug) blogging, it'll be because it pissed me off too much. I was well into writing when, I simply wanted to hyperlink to something. Should be easy, right?

Suffice to say I was reminded to always save as you work. All I wanted to do was link someones name. Well, I figured it out, but it's like going back to 1996. I don't want to have to relearn HTML, for crying out loud. To the programmers of this blog software... do something so that I can highlight a word, click on a box and add a link. Thank you very much!


Okay, a quick correction... Seems as though all of the things I want to do, and more ARE available with this most excellent blogging program. Seems as though, ahem, I had to upgrade my current version of IE. I had wanted to avoid that as I had problems with it on this laptop... but I think maybe the problems have been worked out, overall.

Okay - I'm the dumbass.

Now, what did I write about that I lost? Oh yes - AFM.

AFM, The American Film Market, is a crazy, seedy time. The entire film world, every country, gets together at the Leows in Santa Monica, and buy and sells their wares. Wares being movies. For a week, the place feels like the international terminals at LAX.

People were expecting and hoping this to be a hot market. It recently switched from February, and with the move to November, and essentially killing another market in Milan - blah blah blah... it was supposed to be good.
It wasn't all that great though. In hindsight, everyone said - "ah yes, it's because there were two AFM markets this year.
Hindsight is always 20/20, especially in the movie business.

Still, I had a decent enough time. Saw some old friends, met some new ones. (This is about where my last try at writing this went wrong... see, I'm about to add a bunch of hyperlinks to this blog)
In from Atlanta, were Brian and Laurence Avenet-Bradley. They are close filmmaking friends of ours who are in post on what I think is going to be a very very cool Horror movie. They also have the same agent as myself for their current movie, Dead Still -- Ghost of the Needle in the U.S.
Also, I met a writer/director named Jeff Burr. Jeff knows a lot of people and is a great host, so that met meeting a lot of other people - fun was had. Thanks Jeff.
So, here is my strange AFM story.
I'm going to use a couple dates, not for boring accuracy sake, but so you see the weirdness of the situation.
I met Jeff on Thursday the 4th. We shot the shit, had some drinks, etc.
On Friday the 5th, I see Jeff again. He tells me about a story in the Thursday the 4th edition Variety magazine where I'm credited with being the writer/director of a movie called Straight into Darkness. Cool, I'm in Variety. Trouble is... I didn' direct that movie. I didn't have anything to do with that movie. I didn't see the movie. Guess who did direct that movie?

Jeff Burr.

Now - what makes the story even stranger is that for a story to be in the Thursday edition, it has to have gotten to the 'desk' at Variety by 3:00 pm the previous day.
Which means, the story went into the paper on Wednesday the 3rd -- before I ever met Jeff Burr.

Now kids, Hollywood isn't a big town, but it ain't that small either. I mean, they could have screwed up with any one of a thousand people. Heck, it would have made sense if the screw up happened with someone who was in the next story.
But no.

Anyway, I'm real glad that Jeff is an established and rather well known director. Otherwise, instead of laughing about it, he could have been pretty sore. I know I would have been.

I also got a chance to see the movie. It's really good. I'm glad because if I'm going to be miscredited, I don't want the movie to be a piece of junk. haha

Now, if we can just figure out who sent that story in. Jeff and his agents have no idea.

Well, it looks like my landlord may have backed off for a little while. He's thinking about selling our place, which is why I was looking at having to move. Incidentally, for those of you who so kindly wish me to stay in Los Angeles - never fear. The move would be within the LA area. I admit it, I love it here, and have no intention of leaving.

So, for the moment I don't have to add moving to the list of stressful things in life. I think my landlord would love for us to buy the house - as would we - but it's sooo expensive. It would take a real miracle of video-rentals of Ghosts of Edendale for that thought to even be entertained.

Couple thoughts on that coming right up...

But first - a little Outlook message just popped up reminding me that Clu Guluger's birthday is coming up. Clu's a good friend who used to live on "the hill" with us. Helped us a bit on Ghosts. His son John is directing the new Project Greenlight movie Feast, and Clu plays a bartender in it.
Happy Birthday, Clu.

Okay - back to the program.

A couple of things -- Ghosts of Edendale is a very small movie. For those of you who bought it, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Renters too. Thanks so much!
So, it really pains me when I see that you can download it at bittorrent sites. I don't want to go off on the whole copyright/piracy thing, but stealing from a huge company is one thing. And you shouldn't do it... but stealing from a small company really sucks. Sonic Foundry - they made Sound Forge, which is an awesome piece of software - which everyone bootlegged - went out of business. They had to sell to Sony. So now we, the public are the losers.

I guess I'm asking - please don't steal my movie. It's only 3 bucks to rent it or 16 to buy it (or less) If you all steal it, I won't be able to pay all the people I owe money to, which means they won't work with me on another movie - which means, no more movies.

Also, for those of you who don't like it... Hey, you can't please everyone. Sorry. Maybe you'll like my next movie.
For those of you who don't like it and have a real mean streak...
There are plenty of websites where you can let the world know how you feel about the movie. Too many, in fact. And you know what? Chances are, I will read your comments and either think you're an idiot and be really bummed and hurt or I might agree and still be bummed and hurt. But do you really need to find me on the internet, and email me telling me that I suck? Why get so personal?

Okay, getthing close to the end of this entry... pretty exciting, eh?
I'm wrapping up sound design on Paul Tarantino's new movie, Headhunter. I'm also excited to finally be back on track with my next project. Romantic Action movie? or Horror?

Stay tuned for more details...

I close with a picture taken at a recent DVD signing event at Dark Delicacies in Burbank, Ca.



L-R - Me (Stefan Avalos), Paula Ficara, Marianne Connor, Stephen Wastell, Maureen Davis